


So I Heard You Like Overwatch

by lotsofoctopi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Play, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, During Canon, Edgeplay, F/F, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Multi, One Shot Collection, One-Sided Attraction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Roughness, Semi-Public Sex, This will get dirty folks, Threesome, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-09 14:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10414074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotsofoctopi/pseuds/lotsofoctopi
Summary: A metric shitload of PWP Reader-Insert Overwatch fics. No seriously, that's it. That's all this is going to be.I take requests.





	1. OPENING WORDS

So! You read this right, I'm writing a bunch of Overwatch Reader-Insert stuff because I love me some porn and I got tired of reading the 'new member of Overwatch' trope. We'll generally be avoiding that. I have some rough plans already for about 4 of the characters, but my default is M/F pairings unless stated otherwise because that's what I'm good at writing. Also, probably won't be any Omnic-centric works by default. However, give me a request and I'll do my best with it. 

Moral of the story is if it's not here, ask. I take requests on character to do next, reader gender, kinks, other stuff.... Just let me know what you want and I'll try to incorporate it! 

McCree is first.


	2. Whiskey Sour // Jesse McCree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So kiss me now / This whiskey on my breath / Feel the lives that I have taken / What little soul that I have left  
> And oh, my god / I'll take you to the grave / The only love I've ever known / The only soul I've ever saved  
> And I went home / Chasing twisters in the canyon / My cathedral is the badlands  
> [Dust and devils on my conscience / Come back to me darlin'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GqXzYA5MQmA)"  
> 
> 
> Chasing Twisters by Delta Rae

You were a busy person. After all, you ran the local dive bar practically by yourself, had for years and you knew it’d fall apart without you. Your regulars had sworn allegiance not to The Tapped Keg, but to you because you made the best damn Whiskey Sour this side of the Mason Dixon Line. Your ability to mix a cocktail had come from your younger years of being a troublemaker and though you’d shed most of that aspect of yourself, old habits just die hard. Some people around here thought drinking was a sin, but to you, it was an art. And that’s why you spent most of your afternoons--which were really your mornings--running around town, buying the freshest ingredients and making sure your fridge was well stocked, then heading directly to your small apartment and practising. Yes, your regulars ordered the same thing every night, but you still hoped one day you’d get out of this dead end town and mixing drinks was one of the only things you excelled at. You had the flourishes down, the ratios memorised, the tricks perfected. You knew every liquor you served by taste and could mix over 30 drinks blindfolded at your speed rack. 

The funny thing was you barely drank. It brought back too many memories, one of which was memorialized up on the wall of The Tapped Keg. You had to walk by it every day you came into work. 

Sometimes it made a bad day better and sometimes it made a good day worse but you still looked at it every time.

This time when you walked into work, looking at the photo of you and Jesse sheepishly smiling into the camera made you shake your head. 

The two of you were inseparable in high school. Classes, homework, clubs, projects, prom--you name it, you and Jesse McCree did it together. He was your best friend and you were his. You used to spend hours together just lying around in his folk’s backfields, him shooting cans with his dad’s old six shooter, you doodling in your notebooks. And the two of you would talk about getting out of this little town. Talk about getting out of Texas and doing something important. He’d lay down next to you and roll over onto his side and tell you about how he was going to be military, like his dad. Fight against Omnics or whatever else was out there and save people, and he’d go down fighting too if he had to. You’d smile back at him and tell him about your dreams. What you thought you wanted to do. Maybe it was years of school, maybe it was Hollywood, maybe it was a ranch in the country. Every day it was different, but his--his always stayed the same.

Then of course the years passed and you two were in your last year of high school. One Friday he suggested the two of you sneak into The Tapped Keg and pay someone to get you drinks. You two caused a lot of havoc together and what was better than drinking at the local bar? You had said yes and had gotten in, even gotten those drinks together. Of course, that also meant you got caught together too. At the Keg there was one punishment: you took a picture for their Wall of Shame and got kicked out. Your first Whiskey Sour, immortalised forever in a picture with your best friend. 

You sighed heavily as you tied on your apron and scanned into work. Those had been the days, back when you still thought you had everything figured out. Now, all you had figured out was that you worked 16:00 til 0:00 Wednesday through Sunday every week, and last call started at 22:45 sharp. Part of the problem happened when you both graduated. Jesse had spent so many years practising and knowing what he wanted to do, it was just natural for him to enlist. You on the other hand, continued school at home.

Then he got kicked out. 

It shouldn’t have been surprising--Jesse had never taken orders well, never even managed to do his homework without your help, but he had wanted it so badly. You just thought he’d be able to make it work. Instead of coming back though, he drifted and fell in with a bad crowd. It was about then the two of you lost contact. 

Now, as you swept the floor and wiped down the tables at your bar, you mused about that. It had been ten years, give or take a few, since then. Your barback came in and you handed the job off to them, going back behind the bar to record the bottles left. At this point, as you tapped a pen to your lips and counted your inventory, you just hoped the guy was still alive.  
A lot of shifty groups had appeared not long after the Omnic Crisis which had led to massive turf wars--which were still going on even today. War had a way of doing that. But what with Jesse getting mixed up with it, ‘alive’ was really was all you could hope for. Jesse McCree, while always handsome and charming, was also always pretty oblivious. Another sigh escaped your lips along with a slight shake of your head. You hadn’t thought about him in a long time, so why start worrying now? 

With that you went back through your numbers and dropped them off in the office so that you could open shop. Other things were more important than your past and it was time to turn your charm on. Making a quick stop in the bathroom, you checked your makeup, fixed your hair, and adjusted your cleavage. And with that, you were ready to open. 

It was a busy service for the Tapped Keg. By the time 18:00 rolled around, all of your regulars were in and by 19:00, you had to call in an extra hand. Though it was unusual for this to happen, it wasn’t unheard of and it just encouraged you to work efficiently as possible. This was the type of service you enjoyed, ones where you had barely time to think on anything other than what drink to make next and what tab to close. You were the cause of this too. Your skills behind the bar were starting to be well known in your area and that always made you swell with pride. People you didn’t know started coming and tonight was no exception. There were plenty of people who you didn’t even know the face of, and things started to blur together. Not all the drinks came through you anymore, but you and your two staff split the work. 

So it wasn’t surprising when the familiar man in the wide brimmed hat slipped past your notice, even as he spent a long moment staring at the Wall of Shame. He settled himself at a back table, thumbing through the paper menus placed on each table top. The menus had been your idea, and though the Keg couldn’t afford the nice holographic ones, you made do. 

You were even so busy that when you heard a familiar “Pardon me,” you just continued to reach up for the nice scotch on the top shelf, figuring it was simply someone who had been here before.

“Go for it,” you called back, “I’m listening.” 

“Well, I was hopin’ I could get your recommendation, I haven’t been here a long time.” The warm, deep voice answered, a chuckle hidden in the words.

“If you’re looking for cheap, our well drinks are plenty good, but my personal favourite is the Whiskey--” Finally getting a grasp on the bottle, you pulled it down and turned. And as you made eye contact, the pasted on bartender smile dropped. “--Jesse.”

Your old best friend grinned back from across the bar, prosthetic forearm laid against the counter, “Ain’t heard of that one before. Think I might like it?” 

For a moment, you had nothing to say, all you could do was look at him. His hair was longer than you remembered it and he had a beard now, and that didn’t even cover the muscle mass he’d put on let alone the _missing arm_ , but the way he gazed back at you with that lazy smile dredged up a lot of memories. They were things you thought you’d finally put a lock on after all these years and of course that didn’t even touch the idea you’d had earlier that he was long gone. 

“Y-you’re alive!” Of course the first thing that you managed to stammer out was stupid. You went to cover your face with your hand in embarrassment, your other arm wrapping around yourself. Instead of laughing or anything though, he went silent. When you peeked through your spread fingers, he had a gloved hand on his pulse, then glanced back at you. 

“Seems that way, partner.” 

The smile was back on his lips and you relaxed a little, dropping your hand with what was half a laugh and half a sigh. This was all so unexpected. 

Jesse continued on, quieter this time though. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah,” You nodded, sharing the sentiment. It was good to see him, and honestly, you had a lot of questions. A few of them were selfish ones like where had he gone or why did he stop returning your messages, but most of them were just about his life. You missed your friend. Not a single friendship or relationship had meant as much as he did to you. Friends came and went and so did boyfriends, but the two of you had something special. Before you could choose just one question to ask, someone called loudly for your attention and your face fell. 

With a sigh, you said, “Look, I’ve gotta work, but uh... where are you staying tonight?”

“Hadn’t got that far yet,” he shrugged. 

“Hang out until we close, you can stay with me.” With that, you turned to get two glasses and dipped down to the mini freezer and grab a few of your spherical ice cubes, placing one in each of the glasses. When you straightened you put them down on your side of the counter, uncorked the scotch you still held, and measured out two glasses, one with a splash extra. “And your drinks are on me.” 

You offered the scotch with the most in it out to him and he took it, rough fingers brushing yours. “Much obliged.” 

A giddy feeling hit you at his touch and you turned away with a snort to hide it, adding, “Don’t drink the whole place dry, I still need a paycheck.” 

You heard his chuckle above the buzz of the people around you as you walked away to hand the other scotch to another customer. He was alive. And more to the point, he was here, with you. The giddy feeling stuck with you throughout the rest of the night, and any time you glanced over at that back table, his gaze was on you. Because of that you tried hard to stay busy and not stare back like some sort of schoolgirl, but inevitably your own eyes were drawn back to his. 

Of course your staff noticed. You started being a little slower than normal, not really engaging with the customers like you would have usually. And once it quieted down, your other bartender pulled you aside, told you to clock out early and take ‘that man’ home. You deserved the break, he said, and besides, with the looks you two were passing around you weren’t going to get much sleep anyway.  
That caught you off guard. You hesitated and hedged, saying you were old friends, hadn’t seen each other in forever. When your coworker nodded with a knowing smile and pointed you to the back office, you sighed and gave up. 

When you returned with your jacket, Jesse smoothly stood up, adjusted his belt and his hat-- and then promptly stumbled over his own feet. You smiled at that. You may have seen people do it many a time before but it was endearing seeing your old friend drunk. Once he righted himself, he walked over and held out his arm with that grin.

“May I?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, but took his elbow anyway, knowing full well you’d be holding him up. The two of you walked like that out the door, but as soon as you turned the corner, he instead wrapped his arm around your shoulders and lightly said, “I figure you’ve got questions.”

He was warm, even through his thick clothes, and the combination of that and the smell of cigar smoke had your brain freeze for a moment, your heartbeat speeding up. It felt nice to have that security of him right there next to you, even if he kept stumbling over his toes. It felt right. 

The arm around you aside, you had a lot of questions. But it took a little longer still for the first one to go from your brain to your mouth. “Where've you been? You told me you were looking at joining up with the Deadlocks and then... nothing.”

“You wanna guess?” His lips quirked up more and he glanced down at you. When you shook your head, it turned into a full grin. “Well, I ain’t tellin’ you ‘til ya guess.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause you’ll never believe me,” was the smug answer. Once upon a time, you would have socked him, but when he squeezed your shoulders, pulling you a little closer, you just fell into thought. Thought about what if your lives had gone differently. If this could have happened. After a moment, you made a guess for his past, and he denied it, then you tried again. It went like that until you had made it home to your apartment, and though each of your guesses was wilder than the last, none of them seemed to be the answer. He told you the closest you had gotten was ‘moon colony with the apes’, but everything else like it was way off. In short, he was drunk and confusing, in so many more ways than one.

So when you turned your key and pulled the door open, your first priority was to sit him down and force water down his throat. But as you paused to lock the door behind you, Jesse stepped forward to the couch of his own accord, looking around as he did so.

“You sure haven’t changed much,” you heard him say as he started to unbuckle his armour, “just the same ol’ girl I knew way back when.” 

The little hopes that had been sneaking up inside you without your permission felt dashed. You tried for a joke to hide the disappointment, “I feel like I should be offended!”

Jesse shook his head as he dropped the chest plate and plopped down on the couch heavily. “Naw, I don’t mean it like that. But it means I’ve got somewhere to come home to.”

Just as quickly as those hopes dropped, they shot back up and you felt a heat race through you at his words. It started in the pit of your stomach and went all the way to your fingertips. If that wasn’t a sign you were in deep, you didn’t know what was.

So you breathed out a sigh and with a shake of the head, went to get him a cup of water. Maybe it was just the booze talking. When you returned with the water and held it out to him, Jesse didn’t just take it. Instead, he held it and your fingers gently with a bare rough hand, stared up at you and murmured another thing that sent that same heat through you.

“Why didn’t I make a move on you in high school?” 

Fully aware that all the blood in your body was rushing to you head, you laughed, not sure how to respond, eventually managing, “We were friends first, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he mused, finally taking the water from your hand and letting you go but you didn’t move, “guess so. I always wanted to though.” 

Years of experience of people watching at the bar told you where this was going, but you still wanted to hear it yourself. So you sat down next to him. “Jesse, you’re drunk.” you gentled.  
“Also true,” he gave a nod, and took a gulp of the water before continuing, “but it means I’m sayin’ my mind. I came back here to visit on memory lane, then here you were--seems kinda like a sign.”

Quietly, you asked, “A sign of what?”

His eyes were focused on you, and you absently wondered if he could hear your heart pounding when he leaned forward to set down his cup. Then he brushed your hot cheek with calloused fingers and scooted closer to you on the couch.

“That I should do somethin’ like this,” he murmured back, drawing nearer to you until your faces were so close your noses were touching and then your eyelids closed of their own accord and--

Then he kissed you for the first time. 

His lips were soft in contrast to the scratch of his beard and mustache, and his hand was cupping your cheek while your own hands moved to rest against his thigh. Jesse shifted a little to be closer and you took that as a sign to run your tongue against his lower lip. He tasted like high-end scotch and sweet cigar smoke as he opened his mouth to you, brushing his tongue against yours. After all of those years, you needed more and you pushed closer. Your hands slid up to his chest, then his shoulders just as his metal hand tucked under your upper thigh and his other slipped behind your head. It didn’t strike you how odd that was until he broke the kiss for a moment. Before you could say anything though, he hefted you over onto his lap, so your legs draped over one side. 

It was unexpected and you let out a gasp of “Hey!” 

Jesse just chuckled deep in his chest in lieu of a response, wrapping both arms around your waist as he dropped his head to kiss along your jawline. That caused you to arch your neck, even as you tried to speak, “Jesse, what are you--ah!”

To cut you off, he nipped at your pulse and then retorted against your skin, “Lemme hold you.”

You were okay with that idea, especially with the way he gently soothed his bite with kisses again and managed a nod, your fingers of their own volition going to his hair. You knocked the now-crooked hat off all the way and began to run your fingers through the strands, occasionally tightening your grip as he found a sensitive spot to tease with his tongue and his lips.

When he began trailing kisses back towards your lips and you eagerly adjusted in anticipation, but Jesse paused with his mouth mere inches away from yours, suddenly looking a tad concerned. “If I go too far--”

Instead of letting him get any further, you rolled your eyes and crashed your mouth back against his, tugging him in. That seemed answer enough for him because he eased into the kiss quickly with a slight pleased noise against your mouth. 

Your tongues tangled in your kiss, even as he slid his prosthetic hand under your jacket and shirt, where it tensed against your bare side. The metal was cool and nice against your skin, and you tightened your fingers in his hair. That seemed to encourage him, as his hand slid up further until it was brushing the bottom of your bra and then gliding across your torso just under your breasts. It was sensitive and you gave what was almost a whimper. Jesse pulled back to see your face then, a little smirk on his face as he repeated the motion and you repeated the noise. If possible, your face got redder than it was but he just smiled back at you, catching only the side of your mouth with a kiss. 

“I like that,” he muttered against your lips, pressing his to yours again, “those pretty sounds jus’ for me....”

His smooth metal finger tips dragged across your sensitive ribs again, then down so he could pull his hand out of your shirt, only to catch at the hem of it and tug it up. 

You were a little startled by that, but raised up your arms to let him pull it off. He took the opportunity to duck his head down and kiss the space between your breasts, his beard scratching in contrast to his light touch. You hummed your approval, draping your arms over his shoulders, your fingers wandering his broad back, feeling muscles through his shirt. He started to favour the left, his own hands wrapping around you to quickly undo the clasp on your bra. Then he reached up to slide the straps off your shoulders as he sat up, but you grabbed his hands. Jesse instantly stopped, his gaze meeting yours. When you grinned back at him, he relaxed. 

“Uh-uh. Your turn,” you managed. 

He just grinned right back and let go, reaching for his belt, “Yes ma’am. S’pose it’s only fair.” The ‘bamf’ belt undone, his deft fingers then made quick work of his shirt buttons. 

You slowly got a look at his chest and abs--and you liked what you saw. Forgetting to hold your bra in place, you reached out to push his shirt out of the way so you could let your fingers roam. His chest was covered in fine hair that you played with--until he made a quiet sound of appreciation as your fingertips brushed across his nipple. You repeated the motion, then moved to tug his shirt off of him fully but Jesse had other ideas. He kissed you hard and your fingers closed tightly on his button down as his slid under your bra. That got a gasp out of you, especially when he started to play with your sensitive breasts and nipples, rolling them under the pads of his fingers. 

You arched and managed something between a groan and a “Hey,” but he didn’t stop, just lightly pulled and kissed you again. Even as you wiggled on his lap, your tongues played with each other, and you could feel just how hard he was even through his jeans. It made you impatient. Breaking away, you breathed, “I want you.” 

It seemed to be what he was waiting for. 

Jesse smiled in return and swung you back onto the couch, but not without leaning in to kiss your neck again. He dropped a hand to the top of your jeans and undid them, then tugged them and your panties down your thighs and to your knees. You finished off the job by kicking them off and tossing your bra off to the side too. Then you moved to help him, pulling the rest of his shirt off as he kicked off his boots and made to undo his second belt, something you made a note about to yell at him about later. He stood to drop his chaps and jeans down, underwear quickly following. 

You got a nice eyeful--muscles you didn’t even know existed defined under his pecs, the trail of thick hair that went from his navel down to his pubic region, his hard cock standing out from his body, the tip pink and glistening with precum. As he moved to be in front of you, almost instinctively you reached out to stroke your fingers down his hip, toward his dick. His hips twitched forward in response to your touch and his eyes fluttered closed. When you wrapped your hand around him, Jesse groaned deep in his throat, his brown eyes half opening and focusing on you in a way that made you even wetter. You let your grip slide up to his head and then across it before you let go. That got a shaky breath out of him, and he knelt down in front of you, his two hands slipping between your knees to push them apart, and his real one skating across your sensitive inner thigh to stroke your slit. It was your turn to breathe hard as he repeated the motion, once, twice, three times, before circling his middle finger up, across your clit, then gently sunk it into you. 

You nearly came just at that. 

His name left your lips, and through half-closed eyes, you saw him get that grin as his thumb started circling your nub, his finger sliding slowly in and out. He sped up the pace a little, and you half-bucked your hips into his hand, your knees opening even further. 

“Look at ya, all spread out...” Jesse murmured, ducking his head to gently nip your thigh and watch himself finger fuck you, watch you try and fail to stop your little thrusts back against his ministrations. 

“Jesse, please,” the whine left your lips, and you couldn’t decide if it was because you wanted him to stop teasing you or tease you more. It got him to give that deep, almost musical chuckle though and give you an extra couple of rubs against your clit. 

“Can’t I admire the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen?” he teased and you probably would have blushed had you not already been humping his hand. 

After a moment more of slow thrusts, you managed to repeat, “I just want _you_.” 

That same smile returned, and he withdrew his hand. “You know, I never thought I’d hear ya say that ‘fore tonight and now I get it twice? I must be the luckiest man in the world,” Jesse drawled as he repositioned his knees at the edge of the couch and shifted you a little. Then he leaned forward, and you felt his cock press against your entrance. 

You actually whimpered, eyes tightly closed, as he teased himself back and forth against you, and finally you felt him slip in. He gently pushed deeper, and you relished the feeling of adjusting to him, of being filled up so sweetly. 

When he bottomed out in you, he whispered into your hair, “God damn…” You wrapped your arms around him then, digging your fingernails into his back and your legs holding him in place. You could feel yourself twitching and tightening around his length and after a moment, he repeated with more force, “God _damn_ , mmh...” His cock pulsed inside you before you let him withdraw and then push into you again. His metal hand slid under your ass, giving it a squeeze and holding you to him as his other hand planted next to your head on the cushion, and you clung to him, urging him to fill you up again and again. You breathed encouragement into his ear, little curses and praises and moans, and each one seemed to keep him going, each thrust becoming a little wilder. In turn, he’d growl your name, tell you how good you felt wrapped around his dick, how much he’d wanted this. How much he wanted _you._

Each time he mumbled that in between thrusts, you held him tighter, your knees pressing tight against his hips, your grasping hands pressed against his shoulder blades. Every thrust ground against your clit and you could feel yourself getting so close. You tried to tell him, but all that came out of your mouth was gasps and little calls of his name, over and over. 

“Jesse, I--, oh, Jesse, Jesse…!”

It didn’t matter though. He seemed to get it. He thrust harder, deeper, held you tighter. You buried your face into his neck and slammed your eyes shut when you came hard, spasming around his cock. That seemed to bring him to the edge. Jesse groaned, bucking and filling you up a few more times with rough thrusts. Then he pulled out of you, wrapping his prosthetic hand around his dick and giving one last stroke before he came across your stomach in ropes.

You were both breathing hard, but he gently lowered you back onto the couch, and leaned forward to give you a slow and gentle kiss. You gladly returned it, a hand sneaking up from his shoulders to touch the back of his head. 

When the two of you pulled apart, he laughed slightly, and shifted to fall next to you. You looked at him curiously, your chest still heaving. 

He just shook his head and sneaked an arm around your shoulders, pulling you half onto him. “I never thought one of my lines would work on ya.” His tone was tired but teasing, and you shoved at his side indignantly. 

Your face turning red again, you added, “Shut up. I can still kick you out.”

Jesse laughed again and kissed the top of your head, “I’m glad it did.”

Even though you shoved him again, you were glad it did too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this out there. I haven't given up on this and have about five more half written as it is. The next one should come out in the next two weeks while I avoid working on my finals. Either 76 or Reaper next. As requested, I'll get rid of tags until characters are uploaded. 
> 
> If you want to come yell at me to write and not waste my time, or just. You know, play with me, my battletag is lotsofoctopi#1570. I main Junkrat, Mercy, and D.va.


	3. Dead Quiet // Reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Lately, I’ve been killing all my time / Reading through your messages my favorite way to die  
> Take my head and kick it in / Break some bread for all my sins / Say a word, do it soon / It’s too quiet in this room  
> I need noise / I need the buzz of a saw / Need the crack of a whip / Need some blood in the cut  
> I need noise / I need the buzz of a saw / Need the crack of a whip / Need some blood in the cut  
> I need blood in the cut  
> [I need blood in the cut](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2WcOdz96ko)"
> 
> Blood in the Cut by K.Flay

The couch in your office was your sanctuary. It was where you threw your bag every day after a long class. It was where you sat down crying students. It was where you slept on long nights that started to turn into days. And after agreeing to work with Talon, you were finding more and more nights were spent in the office. 

You were smart, had gone through many years of school, and were teaching the next generation--by all intents and purposes, you should have known better. It was dangerous being in bed with an organization like Talon. But you had created rules to follow. They never were led anywhere around you. You chose random locations, sometimes near home, sometimes far away, to send your messages out. They always went into the hands of one mercenary, he was your ‘handler’ for lack of a better term. At least until they knew whether or not you were a true asset. 

But you knew they needed your skills at reading people, your ability to profile people and know what made them tick. And working with Talon gave you opportunities for deeper research in the psyche of the criminal mind, let alone all of the petty cash it brought in. For once, you weren’t living hand to mouth, deep in debt. You had stability. It just encouraged you to keep working with the group. And the requests they made of you, most of it could be done at the university, hence the late nights. They asked for psychological profiles, ways to read people and you provided. You never told them how they could control others explicitly, but all they needed was written in your work. It was your own moral loophole. You didn’t need to know what they did with the information you gave, and they weren’t going to share. Especially not through your handler. 

He wasn’t one to mince words, let alone share. He simply sent you data, and you responded with more. No small talk, no implications of debt. It was an exchange made. And until your position was sure in the group, it was for the best.

Of course after a late night of research for your paper, you had chosen to nap on your couch, rather than struggle to drive home. Then you heard the door to your office shut in your twilight sleep. That forcefully pulled your eyes open.

The dark figure locked your door, turned, and the two of you made eye contact as you sat up. Your face, drained of colour, his, covered in a skeletal mask, almost resembled each other for a brief second. Reaper then laughed as he scanned your face, low and deep in his chest, but there was no humour in it. It sent chills down your spine and it took locking every muscle in your body to not leap for the small pistol hidden in your desk drawer. You stared up at him instead, your brain running a million miles an hour. How had he found you? What had you done wrong that was bad enough to bring him here? Unconsciously, your fingers grasped your blanket, holding it tight across your lap, as if it could protect you. But if he wanted you dead, nothing would. Not your professional skirt and blouse, not your pistol, not your knowledge. 

When he didn’t approach you, but instead turned his back on you to approach your desk, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. That was a good sign, right? His jacket--almost a duster really--swept across your office floor as he moved. You began to regulate your breathing as quietly as possible, eyes locked on the mercenary’s dark form.  
Reaper made you uncomfortable. He may have been your handler, but it didn’t change the fact you couldn’t see his face, you had no idea what he knew and what he didn’t. You had no idea what his motives were. Everything about him made your instincts scream run--you were his prey, and he was the predator. But the promises he made you had been just as enthralling. And to some extent, so had he. 

If you could gain his trust, he would be a truly fascinating study. Though you weren’t sure if it was the researcher in you who wanted to know more or what.

When you realized Reaper had no intention of speaking first, you ventured a cautious, “Good evening.”

He grunted a response, leafing through the papers you had left on your desk.

That felt like even more of an invasion of privacy than his appearance in the room, so you tried to gain his attention again. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon...” 

Reaper stopped flipping through an essay and dropped his armoured hand flat against the table. He turned to face you again, and simply said, “Something came up.”

Though you wanted to tell him not to touch your desk, the almost cavalier rumble of his voice made you wary. Instead, you forced yourself to release the blanket and push it off of you in a show of some sort of movement. But the black pits that hid his eyes watched you, waiting for something else.

“Yes?” you urged him, hoping either to get on with your night and scare him away, or maybe, just maybe, learn more about him. 

“Read this and tell me everything you can.” With that, he pulled a jump drive out of his jacket and tossed it at you. Catching it, you turned it over in your hands and blearily frowned at the device. It looked so normal for something he owned. 

Then he growled, “I’ll wait.” 

His voice snapped you out of your sleep-deprived thought. You pushed yourself off of the couch and stepped to your desk. So this was to be a rush job. A good rush job, if you were to get anything out of it. It was the first time he’d ever done something like this--and it didn’t take an expert to know that something was bothering him.

That was reason enough to start working immediately. 

As you bent to insert the drive in your computer, you placed your hand on the back of your chair for balance. It took you a second for it to fit the slot, a brief scratching against the plastic sounding loud in the dead quiet of your office. When you fit the drive in and stood however, a metallic clawed hand wrapped around your wrist. You jumped in time with your gasp.

Reaper was right behind you, the bottom hem of his duster brushing your ankles from the sudden movement. His voice grumbled quietly against your ear, “No electronic trail. No copying the data. This is between you and me alone.” 

You swallowed hard and glanced over at the mask. He was very close to you and it made your heart beat hard in your throat. Though you hadn’t seen him in action, you could only imagine the kind of damage he could do. That kind of power intimidated you, reminded you that you might not be as indispensable as you thought you were.

“Agreed?” The way his voice reverberated and his grip tightened slightly caused something in your chest to tighten and you nodded.

Realising that alone wasn’t enough, you added, “Absolutely.”

A long moment passed, then he released you and stepped back. “Good.”

You tried to focus on the hand placed firmly on your chair or your steady feet beneath you instead of the whirling of emotions that went through you. The fear, the adrenalin, those had to be second. If he was going to watch over your shoulder, you had to be focused.

The computer whirred to life and your screen showed the contents of the drive as you sat. Five files. You chanced a glance behind you at Reaper. He had settled himself on your couch, his legs spread out in front of him, his clawed fingers tapping slowly but impatiently at the arm--and his gaze almost undeniably fixed on you.

You swallowed again as you turned, and opened the first file. 

It was a Helix Security International report. As you read, it started to become clear it was about the break in at Watchpoint: Grand Mesa. It described the event, had transcripts from the personnel present, and the specs of the pulse rifle taken. Though you had heard about this via the news, you were exposed to information the media hadn’t gotten. That the perpetrator avoided harming the personnel, that he seemed to know the layout of the place very well, and that he had advanced military training. 

The second file was a video file. It was a clip of the security footage from the HSI headquarters. You watched the man the report called Soldier: 76 judo throw a guard over his shoulder with one hand, saw his face covered in some sort of mask, the motorcycle jacket that might have once been a racing number or just fashionable years ago. His body language was steady, as if he knew what he was doing and had prepared for it for a long time. There wasn’t any sound, but you could tell that even as the other guards were winded, he wasn’t. He looked directly at the camera, and shot it out halfway through the altercation.

The third was a report was about a nurse just outside of Grand Junction. She was young, in her late twenties and not long out of her nurses program. The report noted how long it took to get her to talk, how ashamed she was when she did. She talked about how she had helped him acquire some technology from her hospital, How he really meant well, that he was just doing what was right, what the world needed after Overwatch. She mentioned scars across his face and torso, burns and gun wounds and clean slices. That he was older, perhaps late forties or fifties, but she’d never seen anyone who had better vitals nor anyone healthier than he was. Her machines registered enhancements, but couldn’t recognize what sort. And then there was the fact he was long gone and had left no forwarding address. But the report also mentioned she had an affair with him, so nothing she said could be trusted as reliable. 

The fourth one was a police interview with a Los Muertos gang member. It described the same man, and what was an unexpected attack against the gang. What he said while he beat one of the other members was reported clearly, “These aren’t your streets anymore.” The gang member thought he ran from the grenade tossed originally, but later that night, when they were more prepared, he came back. And he beat them all at their game again. He outwitted them, stole their guns and still left as many alive as he could, so the police could apprehend them. The interview noted an emergency call with the address and the number wounded that prefaced the mass arrest, nothing else.

You paused before you read the last one, glancing back over your shoulder at Reaper. He had sat forward, his body more tense than you were used to--at least until he noticed your gaze. Then he forcefully released that tension and leaned back again, letting out a harsh growl of, “What.” 

Shaking your head, you noted how his fingers were digging into the arm of your couch before you turned back. Something was wrong. And then you opened the last file. 

This file was older than the rest. The layout was something that you saw only in your military forays, and your eyes widened when you realized you were reading Strike Commander Jack Morrison’s file. The pieces started to snap into place. There may have been a stamp across the file that announced ‘deceased’, but the training, the enhancements, that fit. The age, that was right too. And as you read the section that described his personality, it made sense. 

You flicked back through to the other files, comparing them. The Overwatch file mentioned how he had been shot during the Crisis and returned to the field as soon as possible, and with a quick check, it seemed that where the nurse described one of his bullet scars fit. He had been stationed at Grand Mesa originally as well, before it became a watchpoint. He’d been there while they rebuilt it with Overwatch in mind. His scores for any PT test or accuracy test were always above and beyond. And he always avoided any violence he could.

You closed your eyes and furrowed your brow. But what did this mean? If Morrison wasn’t dead and gone, what did it mean for the world as it stood today? That thought occurred to you as you turned in your chair to speak to Reaper. And more importantly, what did it mean for you? 

“Well,” you began as you opened your eyes, not sure how to explain your thoughts quite yet, “It seems--”

A gravelly voice cut you off. “Is it him?” 

“Yes,” you answered simply, “Probably.” 

“Probably?” There was a threat implied in the tone and it set alarm bells off in your mind when Reaper moved to stand. You got out of your chair, eyes frantically trying and failing to see a way out that wasn’t in the mercenary’s reach.

“I can’t know for certain--” You spoke as quickly as you can, hands up as Reaper backed you up until you were pressed against your desk. He lifted his hand and brought it towards your neck. “--not unless I talk to him! You know that!”

As you spoke, his hand paused in mid air. The growl that came from deep in his throat startled you, and he dropped his hand back to his side to stalk over to the one window in your office. Though you were relieved he’d chosen not to throttle you for telling the truth, you couldn’t help but notice the tension was still in his shoulders, still in the way he held his hands in tight fists. It came as a sudden realisation to you that maybe, just maybe…

“You knew him.” It barely had a breath of air behind it, but still Reaper heard you. He placed both hands flat on the windowsill and stared down at them.

And then the only noise in the room was the slight hum of your computer. 

The dead quiet was worse than the threats. The threats you could read, you could deal with those. This, the hiding behind his mask and hood, the silence, you couldn’t read that. You couldn’t use what you knew to protect yourself. 

But at the same time, it spoke volumes. This was, in all honesty, the moment you’d been waiting for. He had trusted you--sort of. Reaper had come to you for something no one else was supposed to know. 

It remained deafeningly silent.

“Reaper,” you tried quietly after another moment. He only grunted in response. Taking a deep breath in, you made a choice--something you would never have done before now. You approached him slowly, and when you were close enough, reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. You meant to treat him like a person, not a ghost to fear. 

Moving far too quickly, he grabbed your wrist again, his grip tight and the claws on his gauntlets digging into your soft flesh. It stopped you from touching him, but the barrier had been broken. You saw it in how his shoulders had loosened, just a little. 

The fear you felt was suddenly overwhelmed by fascination. Something was holding this man back, something involving Morrison, involving Overwatch. He wasn’t just a faceless being in control of the Talon organization. He wanted something. And that made you reckless. 

“I can help you,” you murmured, trying to ignore the pain from your wrist. 

He scoffed, but his grip loosened, the claws no longer digging in as much as before. “No one can help me.” 

Perhaps that was true in the long run, but it was your goal to learn as much as you could, to do as much as you could. “Let me try.” you replied. 

When he didn’t respond, you used your other hand to very slowly reach for the mask on his face. He didn’t pull back like you expected, but he didn’t encourage it, instead just watched you through those pits until your hand found the latch. You clicked the mask out of place and brought it away from his face. 

What you saw was a man with a too-pale complexion, as if he’d been dead for days and his blood no longer carried oxygen. His sunken eyes were a colour somewhere between deep brown and blood red. His skin looked as if it’d been torn apart and put back together many a time, with even older scars running across his cheekbones, brows, and lips. There was a tidy beard around his mouth, though those many scars ran through it. His brow was heavy and his gaze was harsh, as if he’d seen everything bad the world had to offer and knew it needed to be. The frown was deep set on his face, and you had a feeling it had been a long time since he’d smiled for anything close to joy. You had no idea what could have caused it, couldn’t trace it for the world, but a thought in the back of your mind said there was loneliness and fear there too.

Just as you examined him, he was examining you. His intense gaze focused on the tiniest of reactions in your face. When you didn’t pull away in horror, or do much other than study him, he took the mask away from you with his free hand, dropping it to the hardwood floor with a clatter. It pulled your attention for just a second, and when you focused in on him again, a sneer had been pasted onto his face, hiding the vulnerability that had been there moments before. 

“See anything you like, doctor?” His voice was louder now, no longer muffled by the bone white mask, and the weird way it reverberated sent a chill down your spine. 

You didn’t answer. Something about him was enthralling. It wasn’t the scars, it wasn’t the sneer. It was the man behind them and the flash of him you’d seen. The danger you were in should have scared you away like it had an hour before, but instead now it dragged you in. Reaching for the edge of his hood, you pulled it down and exposed more of his pallid skin. You felt him pull away a little at that, saw the fear of exposure jolt through him for less than a second. 

“Who were you?” you questioned gently, more to yourself than to him. His sneer didn’t drop, but it faltered and the same quiet returned at that question. It became the ringing in your ears as you stared up at him, trying to understand who was behind Reaper. Who _he_ really was. 

Eventually, he broke the silence. He took the hand that had lingered on his shoulder from moving his hood and brought it back down between the two of you as he said, “He’s gone.” 

There was deep seated anger in those two words and it brought you back to your senses. You tried to withdraw your hands from his grip, but Reaper held you fast even as his sneer grew larger. The uncertainty from before was long gone and the predator had returned. Like any cornered animal, you stood straight and stared him in the eye, trying your damnedest not to show the fear that had crept back into you. 

“There’s a better way to get to know me,” his voice was dark, low, and you tried hard not to focus on the pounding of your pulse, but the colour of his eyes. Then he let go of your hand and grabbed your jaw, yanking your chin further up, those eyes locked on yours. “We’ll both enjoy it.” 

You froze, eyes wide, and free hand instinctively grasping at the cold metal of his gauntlet. He brought his face closer to yours and that’s when what he was saying fell into place. That smirk twisted his scarred lips and you felt your face and chest start to heat. You had never expected this, but now after tonight, you weren’t sure what your answer would be. Your heart was already beating wildly against your rib cage as you tried hard to come up with some sort of response. 

“Ah,” was all you managed. 

Reaper laughed and drew even closer, his mouth open, lips mere centimetres from yours, your noses brushing. Your own lips parted and you thought he was going to kiss you--but instead you only felt the barest brush of his open mouth against yours and the tease of the heat of his breath. You took a sharp breath as he pulled back, all of a sudden needing his kiss more than anything. But he held you fast in place, and all your could do was stare at the growing curl of his lips, the way he arched his neck as he taunted you. Agonizingly, he did it again, that same motion, that same tease that had you almost touching his scarred lips and then denied a second later.

Before, you thought you might wiggle out of his grip, push him away and tell him to go to hell, but now your breath was coming in shallow shaky gasps. Your head felt like it was spinning. And worst of all, there was a heat starting to pool in between your legs. All you wanted was his lips on yours. As long as he’d keep teasing you like this, the danger you were in didn’t matter.

The sudden lust must have been written on your face, because those intense eyes focused solely on you. With his smirk becoming very knowing, he pulled your face closer to his, making you stumble over your own feet as your noses brushed. 

“How about it?” He practically purred, “Convinced?” 

“Yes,” you said, a hint of a shake to your voice. Anything to get him closer, anything to ease the thudding of your pulse.

“Good girl.” 

With that little praise, he closed the distance between you two, your lips suddenly forcefully pressed to his, his tongue in your mouth, hot and wet and sliding against your own. After the denial, the sudden contact had you moaning into his mouth, your fingers finding and gripping his coat desperately as you kissed him back. He took no time in adjusting his own hands on you even as you melted against him. Reaper dropped your chin and grabbed the joint of your neck and shoulder, his other hand finding your hip so that he could shove you against the window. The force of the push broke the kiss between the two of you, but you tugged him back in, not done taking what he had teased in giving before. 

A pleased grunt escaped him before he trapped you where you were, his one hand staying pressed against your neck, the other supporting his weight against the window frame. But not to be outdone, he bit down on your lower lip and pulled it into his mouth, releasing it moments later to give the same treatment to the upper one. Your eyes shut tight, you pulled him as close as you could, the hard armour and ammo belt in between your bodies not deterring you a bit.

The kiss ended, but Reaper hadn’t had his fill. He pushed you back against the cool glass again with a half-formed noise, his clawed fingers digging into the meat of your shoulder. His thigh slipped between yours and pressed your skirt up, causing your bodies to be even closer. But this time he didn’t go for your mouth--instead the mercenary bent to savagely bite your pulse point. Pain radiated from the spot as his teeth dug in and you gasped, involuntarily arching your body into his. Your hips shifted too and the sensitive place in between your legs rubbed across his thigh. 

Pleasure spread through your belly and you cried out again more quietly than before. The feeling had your hips twitching, repeating the motion, and the pain from his teeth at his neck began to blend with the pleasure. He was marking you, there was no question about that, and the realization made it feel all the more sweet. You could tell you were going to soak through your panties, but you ground your hips against his thigh again. The stimulation kept the pain at bay, made everything feel more intense. When he did pull his mouth away from your skin, it was only to watch your face. He began to rub his thigh up and down against you and you moaned again, another small sound. Reaper chuckled then deep in his chest and kissed you once more deeply. His hand skimmed down your side, clawed fingers brushing across your covered bust and down your waist to the widest part of your hip. Then as you arched again into the sensation, he broke the kiss. You noticed his breath was coming fast as his torso moved away from you and he removed his gauntlets. He dropped it to the floor uncaringly, then dragged his bare fingers up the inside of your thigh next to his own. 

This time, you shuddered, and bit down on your lip when he reached his goal of rubbing against your wet panties. His smile became knowing, and he ran his fingertips across the front of your underwear before pushing it to the side and sliding his middle finger into you. 

Again, you closed your eyes tight and enjoyed the feeling, rolling your hips just slightly to encourage him to push deeper. When he pulled his finger out of you, he added a second and repeated the motion. It seemed like it was only to ready you, because after that, he pulled your panties down to your knees and reached for one of his belts. 

“Turn around,” he growled, his voice and eyes full of lust, and you immediately did as he asked. Your upper body pressed against the glass, but it left you enough space to look out the window. Even as you stared out onto the empty dark path outside, you listened as Reaper undid his belts and pushed his pants down. And then one of his large hands found your hip, and you felt his cock pushing into you slowly. You groaned as he filled you, pressing back until your ass was pressed up against his hips. The mercenary’s breathing was uneven and he mumbled something you couldn’t hear when you took all of him in, but he didn’t stay still for long. He pulled away, then rolled his hips up against you hard, the hand on your hip yanking you back onto him. You pressed back into him as he repeated the motion, pressing closer to you and causing your body to bounce at the treatment you were getting. He kept sliding his cock deep in and out of you, and all you could do was grasp at the window frame, then desperately back at the coat he still wore. As you moved together, the hand on your hip shifted up across your front. It made its way under your blouse and under your bra as he thrust into you from behind. And he gave your breast a tight squeeze as he started to breathe hard against your ear. 

With every thrust he made, Reaper shoved you against the window, and you tried hard to stop from pushing too hard against it, redirecting your weight to the frame. Until his other hand was suddenly on your clit. His scarred fingers worked you as he thrust and suddenly you weren’t able to focus on how you adjusted your weight anymore. You only felt him touching and fucking you and you clung to his coat as he pulled you closer. He might have said something against your ear, deep and heavy, but it didn’t register. You were about to come; you could feel yourself spasming with each thrust and you grasped behind you to find his hips and pull them into you again and--

He stopped. He wouldn’t rock his hips back up into yours, he wouldn’t rub your clit, he just gave a deep and breathy laugh when you bucked to try and regain some stimulation. “Not yet,” Reaper breathed hot in your ear, even as he very slowly and gently began to roll his fingers across you, “We’re not done.” 

That actually got a whimper out of you. He pushed his hips back against yours again, teasing, slow. He tugged on your ear with his teeth, then dropped to your neck to leave biting kisses as he thrust in and out. The denial made you all the more aware of how he filled you up, how he felt as his thick cock slid out. Every motion that led to a brush against your sensitive nub. The bites just added to the pleasure of his torture, and you desperately shifted your hips back. 

It didn’t go without his notice. He sped his pace and turned his attention back to your clit, now leaning heavily against you. The mercenary seemed to bring you just to the edge again, holding you there with a slow rub or a couple of thrusts before you felt him start to lose control. His thrusts were faster, less even, his breathing short and heavy. You were so close yourself and he just kept hitting that same spot. He rocked his hips against yours one more time as hard as he could and groaned deep in his throat, bare fingers digging into your skin as he came in you and filled you up. The next thrust was weaker, but it still brought you over the edge, and you shuddered on his cock, moaning as you did. You two stayed like that, joined and sweating, both savouring the feeling for a moment. Then it occurred that you were still pressed against your window with Reaper’s hand at your clit and one on your breast. And that dawn was coming. 

Your thoughts started to return to you as you gently reached to untangle yourself from his grasp. He pulled away readily, letting you go and turning away from you to do up his pants and recover his gauntlets. In turn, you pulled up your panties, then moved away from the window to fix your blouse and smooth your skirt.

That quiet swallowed the two of you again, dead air. Neither of you said anything, so you went back to the thing you knew. You walked back to your computer and pulled the jump drive, then offered it out to the mercenary. 

Reaper took it, everything but his mask and hood done up again. His dark red eyes focused on your face in a way they hadn't before. 

“Now that he’s fully outfitted, it sounds like he’s looking for targets.” you said quietly, referring to Solder: 76, avoiding his gaze. “If you knew him, you might be one of them.” 

That got a vicious curl of the lips, and Reaper pocketed the device, then bent to pick up his mask, and brought it close to his face. “I’m counting on it.” 

You bit your swollen lip at the answer, watching him snap his mask back into place. The man you’d spent your night with was gone, but _Reaper_ remained. 

It wasn’t smart to say, but the words slipped out unbidden. “Be careful.”

He drew his hood back up and headed for your door, steps absolutely silent. Once he’d unlocked it and stepped through, Reaper glanced back at you. And he added from deep in his chest, “I’ll come back.” 

Then he closed the door and the dead quiet of early morning returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for two friends of mine, L and C, you know who you are. Also uh, I'm a kinky mofo, so Whiskey Sour might be the least kinky of all of them. I like me some variety. 
> 
> Also also the preview for 76's story was woven in here, I'll be shocked if you didn't notice it. He's next, first request that will be filled from here. Again, feel free to hit me up on PC, I play like all the time! I'm super hyped for the anniversary event!  
> last thing; if you're in a relationship with someone who threatens you like reaper does in this fic get out its not healthy


End file.
